The Lonesome Gods

by Louis L'Amour

  “Get out.” He did not speak loudly, and he jerked his head toward the door. “Get out while you’re able.”

  “I’m sorry, Rad, but Meghan and I have business to discuss. Captain Laurel asked me to stop by and arrange matters. Do you mind?”

  He faced squarely toward me, his feet a little apart. He had always been rather obvious, and he had not changed. He was expecting a shooting, and welcomed it. The trouble was that Meghan was there, and bullets do not always go to their intended mark.

  “Go ahead. State your business, then get out.”

  I smiled at him. “Our business is confidential, Rad, and has nothing to do with you. I am here by invitation, Rad. Are you?

  “If you will recall, there have been several hangings this past year, and at least three of them were of men who tried to force their attention on ladies. You could be next.”

  “I’m courtin’ her!”

  “He was asked to leave,” Meghan said. “He has only come because he knows my father is away.”

  “That was one of the matters we had to discuss. Your father,” I was inventing as I went along, “wished me to find a couple of the El Monte men to be around in the event of trouble.”

  Turning to Rad, I added, “A couple of the Texas boys from El Monte are coming by. It would not be wise to be around when they arrive.”

  He stared at me. “Someday,” he said, “we’ll meet somewhere. It’ll be just you an’ me.”

  “Of course, Rad. We’ve both known that, haven’t we? And when it is over, I shall be able to get on with so many of the important things.”

  “You will get on? You will be dead.”

  I smiled tolerantly. “You’re really not very good with a gun, Rad. There’s a little way you have, an odd way you use your hands. You lose time, Rad, and time is the essence of it all.”

  As a matter of fact, I’d never seen Rad Huber in action, but he didn’t know that, and it was in my mind to get him worrying about himself. If he became self-conscious, he would be hesitant, slow. He might try to dismiss the idea from his mind, but it would still be there, haunting him. He might review his method of drawing a gun, trying to discover what I indicated was a bad move. I had no idea whether it would have any effect, but it was worth a chance.

  “You ain’t nothin’,” he said. “You never was.”

  “Ask the men who tried to steal my horses out by Coldwater,” I suggested.

  He walked to the door, turned as if to speak, then walked away, spurs jingling. I waited until the outer gate closed behind him.

  Meghan came over to me. “Oh, Johannes! I am so sorry! I’ve gotten you into trouble again, but I just didn’t know what to do or whom to call upon!”

  “Who else but me?” I took her hands. “I’d have been disappointed had you called anyone else. I hope whenever anything is wrong you will call me.”

  “But because of me you’re in trouble with Rad. I was the cause of that other trouble, too.”

  “We would have clashed anyway. He had started making trouble even before I sat down in your seat. You just gave him one more reason.”

  “Will you have some coffee?”

  The galería skirted the patio on three sides, and we sat at a table under the arches, looking out over the sunlit patio at the fountain. We talked of her father, far out on the seas bound for China, and then we talked of Kelda O’Brien and Della Court, and all that lay outside the walls seemed far away.

  Despite the violence of Sonora Town and such places as the Calle de Los Negros, ours was a town of flowers, vines, and trees, an island of people and problems lying between the mountains and the sea. Despite the furor off to the north in the Mother Lode country, Los Angeles remained a pleasant cow town. Phineas Banning had opened a stage line from Wilmington to Los Angeles, and later had begun building a railroad. Many of the Californios such as Andrés Pico had become outstanding citizens, and despite the seeming quiet of the town, it was stirring with ambition, realization of possibilities.

  “You should not be here alone with your father gone,” I suggested. “The talk about the El Monte boys was just talk, but why not let me get one of them to live on the premises? They are a decent lot, but very tough, and nobody wants trouble with them. There should be a man here.”

  “One is coming. He will be here tomorrow.”

  “Someone your father knows?”

  She hesitated only a moment. “Yes, Father knows him. A friend is sending him to live in the cabin by the corrals.”

  “When your father returns, I wish to talk to him again. He seemed to know more about my family than I know myself.”

  She hesitated, then said, “He is afraid for you.”

  “He implied something of the kind. He seemed to think trouble might come from directions I did not suspect.”

  She was silent; then she added, “Father is often suspicious where he should not be.”

  “Perhaps. He seemed to me to know much that I did not. Until he told me I’d not heard the story of Don Federico trying to kill the other boy aboard ship.”

  “It was just a story. Father has many such stories, picked up at sea. It was just a disagreement between boys, I think.”

  “I wonder what ever happened to that other boy? Don Federico is here, of course.”

  “Father suspects the boy is dead. He has always intended to ask Aunt Elena.”

  “She knows?”

  “If anyone does. The boy was taken away by the older woman who traveled with him. Nobody seems to know where they went, but it is not important. No doubt he is somewhere about, someone we know, perhaps.”

  “I do not really know Aunt Elena, but I believe I would like her very much.”

  “I like her. She comes here sometimes.” After a moment’s pause she said, lifting her chin slightly, “So does Don Federico.”

  “What?” I was startled.

  “We met at a fandango. He’s quite a marvelous dancer.”

  Unreasonably, perhaps, I felt betrayed! I gulped coffee and burned my mouth. Mentally, I swore. Who was I to object? She could see whom she wished. But when had this begun? Since her father left, I was sure.

  “He can be charming when he wishes,” Meghan said. “And he seems to think a great deal of your grandfather.”

  “I have not seen him since I was a small boy. That is, not to be sure of him.”

  “Of course. He is older, but there is not as much difference between us as between Don Abel Stearns and his wife.”

  Astonished and shaken, I protested, “You’re not thinking of marrying him?”

  She smiled teasingly. “I think that is what he has in mind. A girl cannot be sure, but he has been very correct.”

  After a long moment of silence I said, and my tone had changed, “He is my enemy. When I was a small boy he wanted me killed.”

  “Are you really sure he was the one? It has been a long time, and you were very young.”

  “I remember him well, very well.”

  “You must be mistaken. Once when I mentioned you he did not seem to know who you were. He did not, he said, know many Anglos.”

  Suddenly I wished to be away from here. From here, where I had most wanted to be. Beside her whom I loved or thought I loved. After all, I thought bitterly, what did I know of such things?

  “He is a fine horseman,” she was saying, “and one of the most handsome men I have ever seen.”

  The charm was gone. The water still fell from the fountain into its basin, the leaves still rustled, but my enemy had been here. He had sat, perhaps, where I was sitting, had drunk from the same cup.

  I got to my feet. “I must go.”

  Surprised, she turned from the plants she had begun to water. “Must you? But you have only just come!”

  “I must ride to the ranch.”

  Her eyes searched my face, but I hoped nothing showed. Who was I to object to whom she might entertain?

  “I have been told of your black stallion. Have you ridden him yet?”

  “Not
yet. He has taken bits of food from my fingers and I have watered him from a bucket held in my hands.”

  Something was gone from the afternoon. She knew it now as well as I. We stood for a moment, facing each other, each wanting to say something but finding no words.

  Being alone here with Meghan—this was a dream come true. I had wanted nothing more, and the reality had been, for a short time, even greater than the dream. Turning abruptly away from her, I started for the door.

  “Johannes? Hannes?”

  I stopped at the gate from the patio to the street. “You cannot know how it is with me,” I said. “My grandfather and your Don Federico harried my parents into the desert, hunted them there like animals, trying to kill them. Finally, after a long time, they did find my father and killed him.”

  “But that was your grandfather!”

  “Don Federico was there, too. He was the one who wished me killed, not just left to die. He wished it done then. He wished to do it, or have it done.”

  “I cannot believe that. I do not believe it. I know him.”

  “Of course. He is a handsome man, and a very good dancer.”

  “That has nothing to do with it!”

  “I must go.”

  “You will come back?”

  “If you need me, I will come. Otherwise…” I hesitated, then said, “I shall not. What if I met him here?”

  “I’d trust you to act the gentleman. He would.”

  “How does a gentleman act in the presence of one who wished him killed? And who left him to die in the desert?”

  “I told you I do not believe that. You are mistaken in your man.”

  “What does a murderer look like? He can be a handsome, smiling boy or a gentleman of style. It is not what is outside that makes the murderer, but what is within him.”

  “Nevertheless, I would know.”

  “No doubt you have some special gift. I hope it always works for you.”

  When I was in the saddle, I held still just for an instant. She was at the gate, looking after me. But he had been there. No doubt he would come back. Her father would not approve, but he was far away on the high road to China. I rode away, and I did not look back.

  My day was ended, my beautiful day. Nothing in my life had prepared me for this. For much else, but not this. I had never been in love before. I did not know how to be in love, but I had thought, I had believed this was it, that Meghan was the one I wanted, what I had dreamed of, and now…

  I would still dream of her. I had seen no one else to make me look twice. I had wanted no one else, and now…

  Don Federico…

  My eyes went to the mountains, as they always seemed to do on the plain of Los Angeles. I would go to them. I would lose myself in them. I would go back to the desert. Let her have him. Let him…

  I swore bitterly.

  Suddenly I realized I was running my horse, and slowed down. There was no use to kill a good horse because all had not gone well for me. What kind of a man was I? I had told myself I was strong, that I could be brave. I had thought of myself as having character, and here I was shattered to nothing by a few words from a girl!

  Slowing my horse to a walk, I looked around. I was nearing the tar pits on the old Indian trail.

  In the distance there was dust, a dust cloud coming toward me.

  My rifle was in its scabbard, but I wore a pistol in my belt, and today, of all days, I was ready.

  It was Monte, and one of the El Monte boys. When they saw me coming, they pulled up.

  “Hannes!” Monte shouted. “We were coming for you! He’s gone!”

  “Who is gone? What has happened?”

  “There was a raid at the ranch. We fought them off, but they drove off some of the horses, and others simply escaped.

  “It’s your stallion,” Monte said. “He killed one of the thieves who tried to take him, and he escaped. Your big black has gone back to the hills!”

  Chapter 42

  MY BEAUTIFUL BLACK horse was gone! Well, he had waited long for this moment, ever alert, ever watchful, eager to escape. Perhaps the wilderness out there was the best place for him. Yet I missed him, for I believed we understood one another.

  He had, I always believed, belonged to somebody at some time. He seemed to respond to some overtures readily enough, and he might even have been ridden. To say he was beautiful might be stretching a point, yet he was magnificent. His coat was scarred by teeth and by hooves from his many battles with other stallions, too many for him to be called beautiful, but his conformation was perfect, he had a fine arch to his neck, delicate flaring nostrils that spoke of Arab blood, and eyes that spoke of intelligence.

  First, we had to ride on to the ranch and discover just what had happened, then take steps. How many horses were gone? How long ago did the raid occur? How many attackers had there been? Then we had to organize pursuit.

  At least forty horses had been taken. Tomás Machado, who worked on the ranch for Miss Nesselrode, stopped me. “The stallion? He not go with them. He escape. He round up two, three mares and run off. He has gone back to the wild.”

  “Finney and Kelso are here; they rode in just before you did,” Monte said. “Do we go after them?”

  “What else?”

  “They’ll be looking to ambush us like they did with Sheriff Barton,” Finney suggested. “This is a bad lot. I think it was some of Pancho Daniel’s outfit.”

  “We’ll have to be careful.” I pushed my hat back on my head. “I can go alone. The fewer of us, the better, if we’re to slip up on them and avoid an ambush.”

  “We rode over from El Monte because we figured there’d be some action,” Owen Hardin said. “You tryin’ to deal us out of it?”

  He was a short, barrel-chested man with a thick neck who at twenty-two was already growing bald. “Monte said we’d see some action. Now you’re tryin’ to hog it all.”

  “Come along, then. Kelso,” I said, turning to him, “I wish you’d stay. Miss Nesselrode will need you, and there’s no telling how long we will be gone.”

  “How long you figure?”

  “As long as it takes to find our horses.”

  “That may take you clean into Sonora.”

  “Fine! I’ve never seen Sonora. Nor Chihuahua.”

  “Ain’t nobody waitin’ for me,” Myron Brodie said, “and I ain’t been to Sonora neither. Although,” he added, “I did ride down Chihuahua way one time.”

  “You know that country?” Finney asked.

  Brodie grinned. “Not too well. I was ridin’ mostly at night.”

  “Tomorrow morning,” I said, “we leave before daybreak.”

  The ranch house was long, low-roofed, and pleasant, adobe plastered with white, and a tiled roof made with tile the fathers had taught the Indians to make. It was a trade quickly abandoned when the fathers lost their autocratic control over the Indians. Several rooms opened on the galería, which was shaded and cool. Inside, there was a central room with a fountain, a table, some chests, and a few hide-covered chairs. The rugs on the floors had been woven by Indians.

  Dropping into one of the chairs, I dropped my hat on the floor nearby. Elfego brought me coffee. After a sip or two I leaned my head back.

  I did not like it. Raids upon outlying ranchos were not uncommon, but such a raid on our horses so soon after the other was unlikely. Several of the would-be thieves had been killed, and it was strange, I thought, that they would strike again so soon. The object lesson from the previous raid would make them wary. Yet there had been a raid and some horses stolen. What was I to make of that?

  Something about it made me uneasy. There were a dozen horse herds more vulnerable than ours and less well-guarded, so why us? And why so soon?

  It was cool and pleasant there. I thought back to Meghan, and shied from the thought. She had not betrayed me. She was her own person and could do as she wished. No doubt Don Federico was a handsome and exciting man. Because he was my enemy did not make him her enemy. I was stupid
.

  Nevertheless, the thought irked me, and I opened my eyes, staring at the ceiling for a moment, trying to bring my thoughts back to the problem at hand. I sipped coffee. Suppose…?

  No, that was unlikely. Yet, to consider…Suppose the stealing of the horses was a deliberate plan to kill me? To lead me into a trap, as Barton had been led and shot down?

  Friends of those who died in the previous attempt? Or Don Isidro? Or perhaps even Don Federico? Suppose when Meghan had mentioned me he decided to eliminate me from that field, too?

  Or was I too involved with my own problems and not seeing clearly? Suppose it was simply a case of horse theft?

  Play it that way, but remembering the ambush of Sheriff Barton, be very cautious.

  Long since, I had learned that one needs moments of quiet, moments of stillness, for both the inner and outer man, a moment of contemplation or even simple emptiness when the stress could ease away and a calmness enter the tissues. Such moments of quiet gave one strength, gave one coolness of mind with which to approach the world and its problems. Sometimes but a few minutes were needed.

  Long walks can provide this, or horseback rides, reading a different book, or even just sitting. Here, in the pleasant coolness of this galería, listening to the waters of the fountain, I could gather my forces again, and perhaps reach some conclusions about myself.

  Hatred is an ugly thing, more destructive of the hater than the hated, and this I had tried to avoid. I did not hate Don Isidro, I did wish there were a justice that would see him pay for what he had done to my parents. Yet in his pursuit of them he may have given them a closeness, a needing of each other they might not otherwise have known.

  Although I did not hate, neither did I wish evil to succeed in its evil. Don Isidro had fierce pride in a name whose reputation had been won by others and to which he had contributed nothing. He had fled to this country to keep from his peers a knowledge he deemed disgraceful, and he had driven his daughter from his doors for the same reason. Now, a lonely and embittered old man, he was left with nothing.

  The old family servants had left him because of his actions, and those now around him were men he could not control and who showed him outward respect while secretly holding him in contempt.